The Cusp, Part XV
The shaman sat across from him. She began to stir and opened her eyes. The shaman’s apprentice entered carrying wooden cups of soup. She handed each of them a cup. The soup was warm and contained meat and bits of tuber. He drank deeply feeling the warmth in his belly. He was very hungry after his fast of the day before. The shaman spoke.
“I told you the mother had a plan for you.”
“How much did you see? I felt your presence, but I couldn’t see you in the shelter.”
“I saw the woman and heard her talking to you. I did not see what she showed you. That was your journey.”
He told her what he had seen when the woman placed her hands on his face.
“It was horrible to see people slaughtered. The hatred on the faces of the other tribe. They treated them worse than animals.”
“It must be disturbing to see what the mother gifted us with turn into hatred.”
“They killed those people because they were different and because they could.”
“And to take their property and territory.”
“I will die before I let harm come to my people.”
“You are brave, hunter, no one doubts that you would give your life to protect those close to you. You must ask yourself what your death would accomplish.”
“I would not die alone. The attackers would pay.”
“And them what? Your people would lose a hunter and a leader. Dying is easy for men like you. Did not the woman tell you to be ready to do the hard thing for your people?”
“What hard thing?”
“Live and lead.”
His woman stood at the door. She smiled when she saw that he was awake and safe. He stood and embraced her. She spoke.
“I saw you earlier. You were breathing deeply and moving in your sleep. The apprentice said you would return.”
“You look tired. Did you sleep?”
“I cannot sleep when your side of the mat is empty. We are joined.”
The shaman smiled. It was a smile that communicated happiness at the bond they shared and just a hint of sadness as she thought of what she might have had. For a moment she let her thoughts turn toward that path. A path that led to having a mate, children, a good and simple life. Her decision to serve as the link between her people and the mother had given her prestige and responsibility. Her life was fulfilling, but sometimes late at night she mourned just a little. The shaman spoke.
“Go to your camp and eat. Rest today. Think carefully about what you saw on our journey and who you share it with.”
The hunter and the woman walked back to their camp. He looked with new eyes at ordinary things. His senses seemed sharper as he walked. He smelled the smoke of the fires and food cooking. He heard the sounds of the people starting their day. A baby fussing and being soothed by a woman, old people coughing and stirring, the sounds of coupling coming from one shelter. All the things that made the people the people. His journey had made him see the mundane as profound. He felt deep affection and warmth. He knew that the people were not perfect. They argued and squabbled about small things, had idiosyncrasies that were irritating to each other, and character flaws. They were not perfect, but they cared for each other and worked together for what was best for the group. That made them what they were.
They arrived at their camp. Everyone was up and food was cooking. Meat and fish were roasting on the fire. Greens had been gathered and flatbread was being baked on a rock. The cousin looked at him and smiled.
“We were worried about you.”
“I am fine, just tired.”
“The gathering is almost done. Some bands are packing.”
“I have enjoyed it and learned a lot, but I understand why they are leaving. We have taken much from this area; it needs to rest.”
They ate well and it was decided that their group would leave at sunrise the next day. They would spend the day visiting family and friends. The woman wanted to spend time with her sister and her young one. The hunter wanted to get one last visit with the old one and walked to his group’s fire. The old one was sitting in his favorite spot, a log under a large tree. The log was padded with hides making a comfortable seat. As he approached, he saw three younger men sitting on the ground near the old one. At first, he did not recognize them, then he saw that they were the three who had been with the braggart. They had taken their hair out of the many braids and wore simple clothing. They were reluctant to make eye contact with him. The old one spoke.
“Good morning young one! Join us. These three have brought meat, it should be ready soon.”
He grasped forearms with the old one and sat where he indicated.
“I have eaten well already but thank you for the offer.”
The old one gestured toward the three who had been with the braggart.
“They are learning. Their upbringing was not what it should have been.”
The hunter looked toward the three.
“You cannot change the past. It is done. Move on and become men your people will be proud to have in their band.”
The oldest of the three spoke.
“We thought being like the braggart would make us men. We were wrong. He bullied us but we should have seen him for what he was.”
“There are good men in your band now. Learn from them. Listen to the elders. Be of service to your people, they will judge you by what you do from now on.”
“We are ashamed of how we acted. Our band will not like us.”
“It will take time. You cannot change other people. You can change yourselves.”
The three tentatively extended their hands to the hunter and the old one. They grasped forearms with them. The three left for their camp. The hunter spoke to the old one.
“I am in your debt.”
“For what young one?”
“My woman might be a widow if you had not moved quickly.”
“There is no debt between us young one. I did what was necessary at the time, nothing more, and you have given me much.”
“I gave you a spearhead.”
“You gave me back my life. I have a purpose now.”
“You gave yourself purpose. It was inside you; you just needed to remember.”
They sat in silence for a while watching the activity at the campsites. Then the hunter told the old one of his journey and what he had seen. The old one was quiet for a long time and then spoke.
“You were given much young one. The shaman honored you. Not everyone who seeks a vision gets one. Let what you saw guide you.”
“Some of it is like a riddle. I can’t make sense of everything.”
“You will understand when it is time. Trust yourself.”
“Our group is leaving tomorrow.”
“As is ours. They have made a seat on a drag for me. I will be able to rest and not slow the group down.”
“I will miss talking with you. I have learned much.”
“I have become very fond of you, young one.”
“And I of you.”
“We will meet again, if not in this world, then in the next.”
“I look forward to hunting with you there.”
He stood to take his leave. The old one used his spear to rise. They grasped forearms and the hunter spoke.
“No, that is not enough.”
They hugged.
“Travel well hunter.”
“You as well.”
The old one watched the hunter walk out of sight.
The next morning they were up before sunrise. After a quick meal of cold meat and flatbread they broke camp. It only took a few minutes to fold shelters, fill backpacks, and lash the drags together. The people had few possessions, almost anyone of them could fit everything they owned into a pack and a shoulder bag. They were not burdened by excess. When clothing wore out or became soiled, they made new from the hides of the animals that were killed or from linen obtained from traders. Their groups would travel together most of the way and then branch off to where their bands would be camped at this season. The hunter and his wife wanted to spend time with his band. He missed his family. The woman had been well received and was now part of them. As they were leaving the shaman approached. She was wearing her less formal clothing but carried her carved staff, the symbol of her office. She spoke to the hunter.
“You are leaving.”
“Yes, it is time for us to get back to our bands. There are things to do before winter.”
“The seasons progress whether we are ready or not. The mother keeps her own time.”
“Thank you for blessing our union and the things you have taught me.”
“It is what I am here for. Your mind was open to learning; it is not always so.”
“Would it be against custom to hug a shaman?”
The shaman handed her staff to the woman.
“Perhaps not the shaman but hugging a woman you journeyed with would be fine.”
The hunter and the shaman embraced briefly as friends. The woman returned the staff to her.
“Travel well hunter, may the mother bless you and your people.”
The shaman turned and walked toward her shelter.
The journey back was pleasant. The weather was warm and food was abundant. They met other groups on the trail and shared fires with them. Gradually groups broke off toward their summer grounds. At last, they were at the river that divided tribal lands. The woman’s family would turn north and the hunter’s east. They would be close enough for visits at different points during the summer. The union of the hunter and the woman had strengthened ties between the bands and tribes. The younger brother would spend the summer with the hunter’s band. He and the cousin were becoming very close. The older brother was with his betrothed’s band. They crossed the river and followed the trail.
They arrived at the camp of the hunter’s band and were greeted. The campsite was beneath trees on the bank of a small river. Many hugs and forearm grasps were exchanged. Everyone wanted to hear about the gathering of the woman’s tribe. The uncle spoke.
“Let us get settled in. I have many new stories and songs to share at the fire tonight.”
A woman spoke.
“The old tool maker is not doing well. He is getting weaker and says he is not hungry.”
The hunter and the cousin put down their packs and went to the toolmaker’s shelter. His family was there with him. He was propped into a reclined position and looked comfortable. His eyes were dim, but he recognized the hunter’s voice when he spoke.
“Greetings toolmaker.”
“Greetings young one. Are you wedded now?”
“Yes. The shaman blessed our union and we are happy. How are things with you?”
“I am dying.”
“You have time left; you will recover soon enough.”
“You speak words intended to comfort me young one, but we both know my time is short. I have no regrets. I have had a good and long life, my woman waits for me in the next world, and I am ready to see her again.”
The hunter realized that the old one was past needing words of encouragement. He was facing his end with dignity surrounded by people who cared for him and was not in pain. It would be a good death.
“You gave me much toolmaker. Your skill and patience helped me learn the ways of stone. I will not forget you.”
He grasped the old one’s forearm. It was so small that he could reach his fingers around it.
“Travel well tool maker.”
During the day the rest of the band came in to say goodbye. Food was brought to the shelter so that the tool maker’s family did not have to cook and could spend time with him. At sunset he called for his granddaughter and her baby. She brought the young one, who was nursing and knelt before him. The infant was latched, warm, dry and obliviously content. There were fat lamps illuminating the shelter. The old one reached his hand and placed it on the head of the baby resting it gently on the downy hair just starting to grow. The old one smiled and stopped breathing.
The next day the band dug a deep hole on a hill overlooking the river and the campsite. They lined it with flat rocks and placed robes inside. The old one was gently lowered in facing east. His family had coated his skin with red ocher mixed with fat, symbolizing birthing blood. He was being returned to the belly of the mother from which all life came. The family placed his tools near him so that he could use them in the next world. Others of the band left hunter food and a water skin. The hunter put a pouch of his best arrow points near the old one’s right hand. The family placed a robe over the old one and began to fill the pit. More heavy flat stones were put on the grave to prevent animals from disturbing it. Seven thousand years later the woman who excavated the grave would cry as she wrote a paper that described what could be learned about his culture from his burial and grave goods but treated him as a man who had been loved. She would be criticized for losing her scientific detachment and would not care.